Tequila Mockingbird

by Morgana Best

  Once more, Cressida came straight to the point. “Do you know who murdered him?”

  Bertha bit her lip. “The police don’t know I exist,” she said. “Bradley and I were never legally married. He always knew he was going to get caught, but he said he’d make hay while the sun shone. He went to great lengths to keep me out of the public eye. If anyone thinks I’ve got the money, they will certainly come for me. I’m ready for them, though.” She pointed to an army issue metal chest on the floor. “That’s full of grenades, and various other useful items. Bradley had connections.”

  I fought the urge to sprint from the house. “I have security cameras all around too,” she added, “but you’d never spot them. It was hard for me, Bradley being in prison all those years, and as soon as he got out, some scumbag topped him.”

  “Do you know who murdered Bradley?” Cressida asked once more.

  Bertha sipped from her cup before speaking. “Bradley always said the less I know, the better off I’d be. He told me that someone came to see him and demanded half the money.”

  “Did he say whether it was a man or a woman?” I asked her.

  She looked surprised at the question. “It was a man,” she said, “but Bradley didn’t tell me his name. What this man didn’t know was that Bradley had given a share to the families of the other five men in his gang. Bradley didn’t have all the money left.” She laughed. “He had a lot, mind you, but he didn’t have it all. This man threatened to turn him in to the police for the reward if he didn’t give him substantially more than the reward amount.”

  “And did he?” Mr Buttons appeared to be no longer afraid, and was hanging on her every word.

  She nodded sadly. “I think that’s why he was murdered. He was at a loose end, you see.”

  “Just before Bradley was murdered, he came into the dining room. He looked shocked to see the three new boarders,” Cressida told her.

  “And we don’t know if Cressida’s chef was in the room at the time,” I told her.

  Cressida nodded. “The boarders are Adrian Addison, Wendy Mason, and Dennis Stanton.”

  Bertha sat bolt upright. “Dennis Stanton was one of the police who gave evidence against Bradley at his trial.”

  We all nodded. “And Wendy Mason is an insurance investigator working for the bank that was robbed,” I added. “But considering Bradley said a man was blackmailing him, then it had to be either the retired cop, Dennis Stanton, or Adrian Addison, who is writing a book.”

  “Or the chef,” Mr Buttons added. “Albert Dubois, or whatever his real name is.”

  “Well, at least we’ve narrowed the suspects down,” I said, trying to remain positive.

  “You can’t come back out here,” Bertha said, “but I’ll give you my phone number, and you give me yours.” She addressed that remark to Cressida. “If anyone finds out where the money is, it’ll be curtains for me just like it was for Bradley.” Her voice broke.

  On the drive back to the gate, I said, “I feel really sorry for Bertha. She’s obviously done it tough.”

  “Notice she didn’t actually admit to having the money,” Mr Buttons said.

  “She obviously does,” I said. “She pretty much said she did.”

  “We don’t know that, and I don’t think we should mention that to the police,” Cressida said. “That poor woman. She’s out in the middle of nowhere, running this big place by herself. It must be a lonely life. She would have been so excited when Bradley got out of prison after all those years, and then he was murdered. ”

  “I hope she’s safe,” I said, “and I hope the detectives somehow manage to solve the case before anyone comes looking for her.”

  Cressida stopped at the gate. “We’ve made progress. At least we now know the murderer was a man.”

  Mr Buttons muttered to himself.

  Chapter 19

  By the time we got back to the boarding house, we were no closer to discovering the murderer. I wanted to go back to my cottage, but Cressida didn’t like the sound of that idea.

  “We’re close, I just know we are,” she said, rubbing her temples furiously.

  Mr Buttons held one finger to his mouth. “The walls have ears. Let us convene to the private living room.”

  “Is there any point going over it one more time?” I asked them. “We have just talked about it at some length, and we haven’t come up with anything.”

  “I agree with Cressida,” Mr Buttons said. “We need to put our heads together.”

  “But we’ve already done that,” I said, stating the obvious. Still, I could see I was defeated, so I followed them into the garishly decorated living room. “Oh that reminds me, I finished a new painting the other day,” Cressida said. “Would you like to see it?”

  Mr Buttons and I said, “No!” in unison.

  Cressida merely shrugged one shoulder. “Should we fetch a pot of tea and some sandwiches before our discussion?”

  “How about we give it half an hour, and if we don’t come up with anything, we’ll officially give up for the day and have some sandwiches then,” I said.

  To my relief, the other two agreed to my time limit. Mr Buttons and Cressida launched into an animated discussion as to whether or not the French chef was the perpetrator, while I leant back in my chair and closed my eyes. When there was a pause in the conversation, I spoke up. “We know it wasn’t Wendy because Bertha said it was a man, and I very much doubt that it’s Adrian. He is genuinely writing a book on Mr Buttons’ family. That only leaves Albert Dubois and Dennis Stanton.”

  “Then that only leaves Dennis Stanton,” Cressida said, “given that Lord Farringdon vouchers for Chef Dubois.”

  I expected Mr Buttons to disagree vehemently, but to my surprise, he tapped his chin, and then said, “Dennis did know all about the money from the bank robbery. He could have been waiting for Bradley to get out of prison for years, just so he could blackmail him.”

  Cressida agreed. “You know, I think we’ve been looking at this too closely and going over and over until we’ve gone into a head spin. Wendy and Dennis were the two who knew all about the bank robbery and how much money was involved. There’s still a chance that Wendy was working with someone else, but the fact remains that it was a man who demanded the money from Bradley. The one person who makes sense at this point is Dennis.”

  “Mangoes!” I jumped to my feet, excited. “That was it!”

  Mr Buttons and Cressida looked startled. “Explain yourself, dear girl,” Mr Buttons said, waving a hand at me to continue.

  I bit my little fingernail. “Well, it’s not proof as such, but there is something that struck me as strange, though I couldn’t remember what it was.” I wanted to pause to get my thoughts together, but I knew Mr Buttons did not like to be kept in suspense. “Remember that Bradley was murdered by an unripe mango?”

  Mr Buttons shook his head. “To the contrary, Sibyl, he was strangled with a piece of thin wire.”

  I shook my head. “No, no, no. You know what I mean. He had a mango shoved in his mouth. Whether or not he was murdered with it is not the point.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” Mr Buttons looked perplexed.

  “Mr Buttons, please give Sibyl a chance to speak.”

  Mr Buttons made a zipping sign across his mouth.

  “Do you remember that it was an unripe mango?”

  Cressida and Mr Buttons nodded. “Yes, it was most unripe,” Mr Buttons said. “It was an altogether unpleasant shade, somewhere between white and pale green. I almost thought it was one of those strange tropical fruits that are found in Australia, but I knew from its skin that it was a mango.”

  “Now, did any of the boarders see the mangoes?”

  Cressida and Mr Buttons exchanged glances. “No, I don’t think so. Did the forensics team confiscate the whole box?” Mr Buttons said.

  Cressida nodded vigorously. “That’s right. They took the whole box, and then they took the bits of mango from his mouth and from the porch around him.”<
br />
  “So are you all absolutely sure that the boarders didn’t see the mango?”

  “Indubitably,” Mr Buttons said.

  Cressida agreed. “Without a doubt.”

  I waved my finger at them. “When I was walking with Dennis around the garden the other day, we were talking about plants and how most flowers don’t do well in this climate. I said something about fruit, and he said he noticed that the mangoes here were unripe. He even said they were white inside. Later on, something about mangoes was niggling at me but I couldn’t think what it was.”

  “I’m still not sure where you’re going with this, Sibyl,” Mr Buttons said.

  “Don’t you see? Those mangoes looked ripe enough on the outside, didn’t they?”

  “Yes, they did,” Mr Buttons said.

  “And the only opened one was the one shoved in Bradley’s mouth. To put it in a nutshell, if anyone looked at that box of mangoes, they would think all those mangoes were ripe. It was only the one in Bradley’s mouth that was clearly unripe.”

  Cressida gasped. “So Dennis must be the killer?”

  “Unless he saw mangoes in town somewhere,” Mr Buttons said.

  “I love mangoes,” I said. “If any mangoes ever turned up at the supermarket, I’d be the first to know. However, I know it’s far too early in the season for mangoes. There’s no way any mangoes would be for sale in Little Tatterford, or in Pharmidale, for that matter. It’s going to be weeks before any mangoes come to town. Chef Dubois told me he got a box cheaply from a fruit supplier that does the Brisbane to Melbourne run. He hadn’t bought any mangoes before that, and he said he certainly won’t buy any more until they’re in season, so how did Dennis know that the mangoes were a white-green colour inside?”

  “Because he smashed one into Bradley’s mouth?” Cressida asked me.

  I nodded solemnly. “Exactly.”

  “But that evidence would hardly stand up in a court of law,” Mr Buttons said, tapping his chin.

  I thought about it for a moment. “Maybe not, but it will give the detectives something to go on. I’m sure they haven’t even considered Dennis as a suspect, but once I tell them that, they certainly will.”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea,” Mr Buttons said. “Sibyl, call Blake now and tell him, and then call the detectives.”

  Cressida spoke up. “Sibyl, don’t tell Blake about you-know-who.”

  It took me a moment or two to realise she meant Bertha. I nodded as I pulled the phone out of my pocket to call Blake.

  The next thing I knew, someone pushed me hard from behind. I fell against a sturdy, marble topped burr walnut credenza. “I’ll take that,” a voice said.

  I turned around to see Dennis standing in the doorway. “Do as I say and no one will get hurt. Sibyl, hand me your phone.”

  I handed him my phone with my uninjured arm. Mr Buttons and Cressida were clinging to each other, their faces ashen.

  “And don’t try to scream,” he said. “We’re the only ones at the boarding house at the moment.”

  “So you murdered Bradley Brown!” I said in shock.

  He shook his head. “Don’t sound so surprised, Sibyl. I heard you talking it all through. What I want to know is, who is this you-know-who that you’re not supposed to tell Blake about. I assume it’s Bradley’s offsider.”

  “Why didn’t you turn Bradley in for the reward?” I asked him. “There must be a reward for the missing money.” I was hoping to draw his attention away from trying to find out about Bertha.

  “The money he ended up giving me was three times more than the reward,” Dennis said. “That will set me up for life, and I can disappear readily enough. I made some good contacts over the years, doing favours for some of the criminal elite in this country. I’ll be able to disappear to a nice little country that isn’t on good terms with Australia.”

  “But if he already gave you the money, why did you kill him?” I asked him. “Did you want all the money?”

  “All the money would have been nice,” he admitted, “but no. He was a loose end. He could have talked at any point, and I knew he had either a best buddy or a girlfriend around who was hiding the money for him. I figured he hadn’t told them who I was, but that was only a matter of time.”

  Mr Buttons finally found his voice. “What made you think he hadn’t told his friend who you were?”

  Dennis smiled smugly. “I’ve dealt with criminals for years. I know how they think. They always try to keep people out of the loop to keep them out of danger. I figured I only had a few days left. I was also worried that the interfering fool, Wendy Mason, was here. She could have been a fly in the ointment. I had to act fast.”

  “When Bradley came into the dining hall that day, he was shocked to see you sitting at the table. I didn’t know which one of the boarders he was shocked to see at the time,” I added, “but it was obviously you. Since you were in town anyway blackmailing him, why was he so surprised to see you here?”

  Dennis worked a crick out of his neck. It made me think of the Terminator, and I shuddered. “He had already given me the money a week previously, and I assured him I was leaving the country at once. When he saw me, he must have realised that I wasn’t here for any good reason.”

  “He thought you were here to murder him,” I supplied.

  Dennis shrugged. “Actually, he probably thought I was here for more money. Now, enough of this. I need the name of the other person.”

  “How would we know?” Cressida said in a small voice.

  “Because I overheard you say not to tell the police about you-know-who. Now you need to tell me who this you-know-who is, or someone’s going to get hurt.” His face changed from neutral to violent in an instant.

  He lunged for me and grabbed me by the throat, spinning me around to face Mr Buttons and Cressida. “I have no compunction in strangling her with my bare hands if you don’t tell me the identity of this person,” he snapped.

  I could see spots before my eyes. The door flew open. Through the spots I could see a figure, a figure that looked like Chef Dubois. He pulled a knife out of his chef’s belt.

  Dennis motioned him inside with his free hand. “Drop the knife or she gets it,” he said, “and don’t get any ideas. I can strangle her before you reach me.”

  It all happened so fast. I saw the chef raise his arm, and the next thing I knew, I was released. Simultaneously, Dennis let out a scream of pain. I turned around and saw a large knife sticking out of his leg. While I was processing that information, I noticed that he had two knives sticking out of his shoulders. Soon, he was a veritable pincushion.

  Mr Buttons lunged for my mobile phone, abandoned on a nearby chair. He called emergency. Cressida ran over to me. “Oh my goodness gracious me, Sibyl. Are you hurt?”

  “My throat hurts,” I managed to croak.

  “I called emergency and then I called Blake for you,” Mr Buttons said.

  I groaned. This wasn’t going to go over well with Blake.

  Chapter 20

  We were sitting in my cottage, trying to relax after the events of that afternoon. I was sitting on the sofa next to Blake, who had his arm around me protectively. Sandy was asleep in front of the fire, snoring lightly. Mr Buttons and Cressida were sitting opposite me on separate chairs, as was Albert Dubois. I still didn’t know his real name.

  Unfortunately, Max was also sitting with us, and acting quite perky for a bird that should soon be asleep on his perch. For some reason, he had taken a liking to Albert and had not insulted him once. That had to be some kind of a record. The rest of us had not got off so lightly. “You’re an ugly old fool,” Max squawked at Mr Buttons.

  “That’s it!” I removed Blake’s arm from my shoulder and stood up. “I’m putting you outside.”

  By way of response, Max let out a string of words that could not be repeated. When I returned to the room, I sighed happily. “Apart from the victim, Bradley Brown, no one else was hurt, and that’s entirely thanks to you, Albert.” />
  Albert ducked his head, clearly pleased. “Where did you learn to throw knives as well as that?” Mr Buttons asked him. “That was most impressive.”

  “Oh, I’ve never thrown a knife before,” Albert announced happily. “I’m a darts champion, that’s all.”

  “But you missed my leg by that much,” I said, holding my finger and thumb apart about a centimetre.

  “Beginner’s luck,” he said, smiling and nodding.

  I thought about the knife that narrowly missed my head, and forced myself to take a deep breath. Blake’s arm tightened around my shoulders. “The mystery of the whereabouts of Bradley’s money died with him,” Blake said.

  Cressida, Mr Buttons, and I exchanged glances. We had decided not to tell him about Bertha, or of course, that the other gang members’ families had received their share. Who said there is no honour among thieves?

  “Dennis took a sizeable cut of it,” I said, shuddering when I mentioned his name. “And to think he looked like a nice, honest man.”

  “Appearances can be deceptive,” Mr Buttons said.

  Cressida waved her finger at him. “Yes, and I thought you were a nice, normal English gentleman.”

  Mr Buttons picked up the poker and rearranged the wood on the fire. “I am a nice, normal English gentleman,” he protested.

  “No, you’re not!” Cressida said triumphantly. “You’re the Fifteenth Earl of Nithwell!”

  Mr Buttons turned back to face us. “I’m not, not anymore. I am simply Mr Buttons.”

  “Why did you leave it all behind you, Mr Buttons?” Albert asked him.

  Mr Buttons exhaled loudly. “I wanted to get away from all the unlimited money, the people waiting on my every need, the silver service, the tailored clothes, the people preparing all my meals.” He threw up his hands in horror.

  I pulled a face. “Well, when you put it like that, it certainly sounds awful.” I laughed.

  “Things always seem greener on the other side of the fence,” Mr Buttons remarked sagely.

  “You haven’t told me yet why Dennis attacked you all,” Blake said. “I know you gave your statement to the detectives, but they didn’t tell me and none of you have, either.”